Hope Against Hope
by whootsies
Summary: Factley/Factventure, humanized AU. Wheatley comes up with a brilliant plan to woo Craig.


Dressed nicely? Wheatley tugged at his bow tie. Check.

CD? He popped the the disc out of its case. Check.

Boombox? Pushing open the player, he clicked the CD into place and closed the top.

Wheatley stood directly below Craig's window outside of his apartment, ready to press the play button. He was dressed in his finest clothes, a pressed blue dress shirt, black suspenders, and a blue bow tie (properly tied this time, as well). This was his latest in attempts to get Craig to say yes to a date with him, and, he was absolutely sure it was going to work. He saw it in an American film, after all.

Oh, he had to get Craig's attention first. Right then.

Wheatley looked around the grass, looking for a pebble or a rock to toss at Craig's window. He finally found one, a rather small one, but with a shrug he took a few steps back, aimed, and tossed the pebble. It landed too high, tapping the wall just above his window. He tried to watch where the pebble fell, but, he lost sight of it and it disappeared into the grass.

Oh, bloody – looking to the side, he saw another pebble. Picking it up, though, he found that it was far heavier than the previous one. Well, it would still work. Winding up the pitch, Wheatley tossed it in the air, aiming directly for the window.

It hit its target, all right – the glass in Craig's window shattered, the glass exploding into a thousand pieces. Wheatley flinched, swearing loudly as he heard a voice in the apartment above.

Craig peeked his head out of the window; he was shirtless, which struck Wheatley as odd, but, then again, he had just accidentally broken the man's window and had far more important things to worry about.

"Wheatley?" Craig yelled to the man below. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Wheatley quickly pulled his boombox up by the handle, pressed the 'play' button, gripped both sides of it, and hoisted it above his head.

"_It's got what it takes!_" the music blared from the speakers. "_So tell me whyyy can't this be love?_"

Craig's face twisted in confusion.

"_Straight from the heart, ooh tell me whyyy can't this be love!_"

"Craig, will you go out with me?" Wheatley shouted over the music.

"_I tell myself, 'Hey only fools rush in'..._"

"What?" Craig shouted back.

"I said, will you go out with me?" Wheatley screamed.

"Turn off that music!" Craig motioned hastily at the boombox.

Wheatley lowered the boombox and fumbled to press the the 'pause' button.

"I repeat," Craig said with exasperation clear in his voice. "What. Do you think. You are doing."

"I'm tryin' to ask you out in the most romantic way possible! I saw it in an American film, I thought it was romantic," Wheatley grinned and snapped one suspender strap with his free hand. "So, will you go out with me?"

Before Craig could answer, a larger, darker-skinned man appeared behind him, wrapping his arms around the blond's waist.

Wheatley dropped his boombox on the ground next to him in shock. "Rick? What in God's name – !"

"Howdy, Wheaters," Rick called, giving a curt wave and an arrogant smile. "Why'd ya' break Pinkie's window?"

Wheatley's jaw was still hanging, his brow knitted in disbelief that he had been beaten to the punch by that pompous, over-confident, _brutish_ son of a –

"So, Wheatley..." Craig began, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one hand and settling the other on Rick's arm. "Fact: You broke my window. Fact: You probably woke up my neighbors, which, I will definitely have to deal with tomorrow. Although, I must say, I admire your perseverance. One is usually discouraged after the first fifty rejections."

Wheatley's shoulders began to sag, and he sighed heavily. Reaching over, he picked his boombox back up again.

"So, in short: no, I will not go out with you."

The Bristolian began to walk away in the direction of his car, hunched over and looking like a puppy that had been kicked.

"Oh, and Wheatley?" Craig called after him.

Wheatley looked back, looking a little too hopeful.

"I _hate_ Van Halen," he said, disappearing back into his apartment with Rick.

Glancing at his boombox, Wheatley raised an eyebrow, then snapped his fingers. Of course, it was the bloody music!

Quickly jogging back to his car, parked just outside the apartment complex, he began thinking of other ways to try his luck with Craig.

Maybe he'd play Cyndi Lauper next time.


End file.
